


The Punchline Never Comes

by KamalasFanfiction



Category: Good Morning Zakera Ward (Podcast), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: (the characters come from the podcast GMZW which I Don't Own but I can't tag this otherwise), Accidental Marriage, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, British Arab Character, Chronic Illness, F/M, Radio, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamalasFanfiction/pseuds/KamalasFanfiction
Summary: “‘Formal union regarding Jorik Siril’,” He translates, tracing under the words. She nods as if she doesn’t understand but is waiting for clarification. “‘Concerned human mate Suraya El-Hashim’.”“Woah, woah, woah- hold the phone. Are you saying that I accidentally space-married us?!” Her voice remains fairly level throughout the whole thing, but she gets loud enough on ‘space-married’ that he pats her on the shoulder to comfort her. “Jorik, if this is some shitty turian joke, I swear-”A turian, a human, and an asari walk into a radio station. The turian tries to do his work, the human tries to scam Palaven, and the asari tries to give her coworkers relationship advice. The scam falls through and the human and turian are now recognized as lawfully wedded under the turian hierarchy, and the asari still tries to meddle.All because Suraya El-Hashim wanted to get her turian coworker better medical benefits.





	The Punchline Never Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% based off of the Mass Effect fan podcast "Good Morning Zakera Ward". I highly recommend it- it builds off of current lore in a fun + refreshing way, and it made me an unironic fan of elcor music so. Here I am.
> 
> (You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/user/goodmorningzw)!)

The first five minutes of the broadcast, Suraya is nowhere to be seen and Jorik tries not to fidget or stutter as he wishes the Zakera Ward a bright and prosperous morning. His subharmonics, unfortunately, go too low, and he can hear the terrible feedback that he'd just broadcasted to every one of their listeners. “Sorry about that,” He's not new to this- just new to doing the show without Suraya, who always kickstarted it and always had a home in hand. “First time starting the show without Suraya. She didn't tell anyone she'd be ‘playing hockey’ for today, which leaves me to guess at her show notes.”

He flexes his mandible quickly, taking the time while the shows’ jingle played to bring up the local traffic on his omnitool. “If you're heading to work, make sure to plan around taking the shuttle’s 47 track- nothing has been confirmed, but-”

The door to the studio slams open, Suraya El-Hashim standing like a sweaty, tired spirit of radio, and Jorik doesn't even hide his heavy exhale of relief. She has a cloth bag slung over her shoulders, something large and rectangular stuffed in it. “Sorry for the delay, folks!” She calls from the opposite side of the room, and he gives her a thumbs up when he hears the feedback. “Went to deal with some personal matters and reckoned I could get some donuts for the building! That’ll teach me to give into sweet, sweet temptation.” She pivots the bag onto the table, pulling out a box of donuts, split half-levo and half-dextro down the middle, according to the labels.

“Spirits, Suraya, I was drowning.” He says, tilting his head back and sticking his tongue out to feign drowning. He stops when he hears her laugh, which had been his aim. “Couldn't you have at least forwarded me your show notes? All I had were a few segues to commercials and announcing the Palaven lottery numbers if we were short on time.” She sits down in the chair beside him, taking her earpiece when he offers it between two talons.

“Well, consider yourself lucky that I know how to swim!” She says, a little cocky and with a smirk on her face, but her voice is somewhat breathy. She pulls her curly hair from her face, grimacing slightly when the finer hairs stick in place. Jorik echoes her sentiment (sweating always freaked him out- his asari stepmother and stepsister did it, sure, but it unnerved him how both humans and asari could simply cool themselves down in high temperatures or stress. His biology meant he'd simply die of heat if he overexerted himself or got into some unimaginable heat.) and he reaches over to help her, if only to be polite, but she opens her mouth and continues, startling him enough to jerk his hand away. “I don't mean to put you on the spot, Asar Amoré, but I’m outta breath.” He shoots her a panicked look, all exposed teeth and wide mandibles, but she waves him off, pointing to her mouth and her slight panting. “Would you mind doing some listeners’ questions while I get set up? I got four donuts with your name on it, if you're interested.”

Asar’s voice pitches in from her personal studio on another floor of the building, her voice smooth and more than slightly amused. “Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.” But she laughs, then, and Jorik can practically see her running her hand over her crest, no doubt over the fact that their coworker missed opening solely to get them donuts. “But I may reconsider if you give me one with extra sprinkles.”

“Two ‘Nebula swirl’ donuts, sold to the matriarch upstairs!” Suraya says, pulling some napkins from the same bag and putting two levo donuts with sprinkles on them and setting them to the side. “Now, Jorik, as our token turian, I’ve deliberately gotten you a wide variety to bribe your compliance. Pick your poison.”

“I don't think they'd be poisonous unless I pick up one of the levo-protein ones, Suraya.” He points out, seeing her shake her head over something he didn't understand. “I’ll take the charra-filled ones. And a big thank you to...” He trails off, having to crane his neck to read the turian-translated label on top, underneath the asari-translated name. “Cafe nar Vivime...? Oh, so this is the quarian donut shop you wanted to try out.” Jorik pauses, then clears his throat. “I should mention we aren't sponsored by them, and that this wasn't planned for the show, as our producer Mr. Rak is gesturing at me to-”

“And now, love advice with Asar Amoré.” Suraya cuts in, and her tune plays out, signaling their microphones being cut off for the time being. She gives it another three seconds (leftover habit from working at ANN, where there was a slight delay), before she turns to Jorik with the widest smile he's ever seen on her. “Jori, if you were standing up I’d tell you to sit down- I have _big news_!”

He leans an elbow down on the table (something his stepmother had chastised him enough about that he didn't even do it in his own home), and picks up his donut, looking between it and her. “If Cafe nar Vivime really is sponsoring us, I’m sorry I didn't let you say so.” He takes a bite into it, shivering slightly. Sometimes they'd go out for a light lunch, eat a sandwich and chat about work, their lives, his cats- none of the food was too substantial and nothing was specifically geared towards turians. The donut was sweet and flaky and-

Suraya laughs, “I’m real glad you like it- I was worried I blew my credits on getting you half the box. You can take it home, of course.” It takes him a moment to realize she's laughing because he's rumbling, and it's shaking the table somewhat. He collects himself, eating the rest in another bite- they were obviously quarian donuts, considering the size. “No, that's not the good news.” She leaves her donuts untouched, digging back into her bag and pulling out-

“Suraya,” He says, somewhat suspicious and somewhat reprimanding. “Why do you have a turian pill container?”

“It's not for me.” She rushes to say and he sees her eyes dart to the right, using her peripheral vision. He has to turn all the way to see Mr. Rak holding up his three suited fingers, signifying three minutes left on Asar’s sketch. “Long story short: I boosted your insurance with mine and got you medicine for your migraines and seizures. Epilepsy is relatively common with humans by comparison, and I got ahold of this salarian doctor who could engineer our prescriptions to be turian-friendly.” She jams her thumb into the space at the top of the cube container, and it lights up with his correct name, date of birth, and service number. He blinks, somewhat stunned, as she slides her thumb to the right and up, releasing the tab and opening it for him to see the bright red capsules inside.

“I...” He opens his mouth several times, his tongue dry and stuck to his mouth. Very carefully, he pulls the container away from her and towards himself, shutting it and turning it over to see the instructions for ingestion, the prescribed doctor. “I have. A lot of questions. How did you get ahold of my medical information?”

Mr. Rak curls one finger down to two minutes remaining. “Well, I have Earth-based insurance- Blue Shields, but you wouldn't care about that. Recently they updated their policy to line up with Palaven-based insurance- so long as you, as a turian, are enlisted in a ‘domestic partnership’ with me, a human, you qualify for substantial cuts on medication for any turian disease that's similar to the ones covered by my insurance!” She takes a deep breath, then knocks her fist against his shoulder- he rolls with it instinctively so she doesn't break her knuckles. “So? How's that for being a great friend- you get to cut in on my medical insurance, no expenses paid because we do civil work together! That’s why I was late to work- the files took two days to transfer from Earth to Palaven back to here.”

Jorik’s auditory receptors caught on ‘domestic partnership’, though. It wasn't a term _he’d_ ever heard used by a turian, nonetheless Palaven insurance paperwork. Nevertheless, he was holding a one-way ticket to never having another migraine again, according to the label (in more professional terms), which he couldn't just ignore. “Spirits, Suraya, I don't know how I’ll ever make this out to you. This... I’m really touched, to know you care about me this much, to use your _insurance_ for my migraines.” And, because it was going to bother him, “Would you mind forwarding me the paperwork so I can look it over? If you combined our insurances, the medication should be screened for my allergies and sensitivities, but I’d like to look over it.”

Mr. Rak holds up one finger, his thumb. Suraya talks faster, which he thought impossible. “Of course- I’ll drop them right now. They came with turian transcriptions for your viewing pleasure, of course.” Her fingers are quick over her omnitool, pulling up what looked to be ten separate files before flinging them to his icon at the top- his omnitool pings, notifying him that he'd received them. Mr. Rak gestures at the old-fashion sign that says “On-Air” that flashes red again, and she segues back to their planned show while he skims over the files.

Sure, he throws in some light banter here and there, but today's show was heavily focused on Suraya’s summations of local news and a joke about the upcoming “Mr. and Mrs. Spectre” movie, featuring a human assassin and a drell assassin in a tumultuous marriage of lies. All the while, he scanned the files, trying to find where she pulled ‘domestic partnership’ from. He stops on the last page, a summation of how the prescription was acquired in Palaven Standard script. _Formal union involving Jorik Siril recognized two days prior under the turian hierarchy, allowing access to medical records. Medication acquired by concerned human mate Suraya El-Hashim, under merged Blue Shields Earth insurance._

He lets out a very loud, very radio-unfriendly shriek. Suraya immediately stops what she's doing, barking out a, “Wot?” as she scans the room- he immediately feels guilty, knowing she undoubtedly was reminded of the zealot hanar. “Nothing!” He hurriedly says, trying to smooth it out, even though his heart is pumping hard enough that it could make him the first warm-blooded turian in Citadel space. “Nothing, just surprised about the remaking of a classic human movie with multiple non-Council species. Surprised. Uh. I’d love to see it when it comes out...?” He prompts her, trying to get her to keep speaking while he has a slight breakdown on-air.

“Two standard months from now.” Her voice holds obvious scepticism in it that that was truly it, especially if her squinted eyes were anything to go by, but she continues. “You think you’d wanna go together, Jorik, split some ambi-popcorn? I’d be willing to go half-n-half on the price.”

“Of course- I’d need you to explain half the references, anyways.” Them seeing movies was nothing new, them sharing _food_ (safe, “ambi-protein” food meant to be eaten by all species) was nothing new, but two lines at the end of a prescription fill changed its entire context. He can practically feel the words on his tongue- _Suraya, I greatly appreciate you and all you've done to help me with my ‘epilepsy’ adjacent disease, but I think you accidentally married us. Don’t worry, I’m fine with annulling it and losing your insurance benefits- I’ve survived this long without them._

Instead, when they sign off and she asks what was _really_ wrong, he blurts out, voice cracked, “ _Suraya we’re married._ ” And he's so outwardly nervous that he can see her _take on_ some of his worry, panicking slightly and reaching out for him, standing up and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“What are you talking about? Our last segment with the drell callers-” He shakes his head quickly, sliding up the file on his omnitool and jabbing a talon at the offending line. “Jorik, you know I can't read turian for shit, that means nothing to me.”

“‘Formal union regarding Jorik Siril’,” He translates, tracing under the words. She nods as if she doesn’t understand but is waiting for clarification. “‘ _Concerned human mate Suraya El-Hashim’_.”

“Woah, woah, woah- hold the phone. Are you saying that I _accidentally space-married us?!_ ” Her voice remains fairly level throughout the whole thing, but she gets loud enough on ‘space-married’ that he pats her on the shoulder to comfort her, locking them in an awkward embrace. “Jorik, if this is some shitty turian joke, I swear-”

“No joke- what... what does it say, on the human documents?” And he pulls up the documents mirrored to the one he was looking at, his hands shaking. Mr. Rak knocks on their door, a loud and breathy, “Four more minutes... until the next pair arrives...”. Suraya holds up an impatient five fingers signifying they needed more time.

Her eyes scan the large document of swirling characters and dots- if he weren’t panicking over the fact that Suraya is now his lawfully wedded wife, he’d be thinking about how impressive it is that she can read the script that fast. “It lists us as a domestic partnership- that’s when two humans that _aren’t married_ live together and share benefits.” She looks at him from the side of her eye, frowning slightly. “Okay, so I _can_ own up to that one- I said we lived together to get you medicine. There must’ve been a mistranslation when these documents got sent to Palaven- do turians-”

“No.” He says, very quickly, feeling like he may just collapse. “That’s just _marriage_ to us. _Spirits_.” Then he lets out a soft profanity that he’s sure doesn’t translate, even though he sees her eyebrows raise. “Listen, I’m fine with annulling the marriage if you want to- what you did for me was _great_ , and I really won’t forget it, but if you don’t want to be married-”

“Who said I didn’t want to be married?” Suraya hits back, fast in the way her voice got when she heard a competition or a slight against her. “ _You_ listen, Jori- I didn’t have a lot going on anyways, so if we have to be turian-married and human-partnered to get you something that’ll keep your migraines out, you can bloody bet on me keeping you on my insurance.” But then he sees a slight purse of her lips- a micro expression for displeasure. “Unless you don’t want to, of course- I’m under no illusions that we’re _actually_ together- you can go out and have as much fun as your turian heart can handle.”

He clicks at her, rolling his eyes. “Like I actually had that much fun anyways.” But as much as he wants to lose himself to her jokes, the reality still stands, and his subharmonics quiver. “So, um. We’re... staying married?” The absolute mess this was on his brain wasn’t lost to him- as soon as Suraya turned her back he was going to choke down two of those ‘epilepsy’ pills. New human wife or not, his seizures and migraines were still a sign of weakness, and he didn’t want to show a weak plate on his carapace. Even if she did know he watched My Little Varren unironically, already.

“We’re staying married.” She agrees, but the word is somewhat choked- she’s patting his shoulders like she doesn’t know what else to do with her hands, still resting on him. “We’re... still best friends though, right?”

“I don’t care-” Mr. Rak wheezes, opening the door, his pressurized suit hitting the edge of the door. “What you two are... If you continue to stay in this building... You will start paying rent!” Suraya’s hands jump off of his shoulders, and he misses the warmth almost immediately.

“I hear you, loud and clear, Mr. Rak.” She says, sounding definitely annoyed as she goes to collect the contents of her bag and re-sort it. She hands him the box of donuts with a shy smile (something he’d never thought he’d see on her- Suraya was many things, but never demure), putting the pill container on top of it in a balance. She jerks her head towards the door, likely signaling for them to leave together.

With a similar amount of impatience (wanting to assure her _yes, of course, no matter what they were still friends_ ), he nods to their boss. “See you tomorrow.” He ducks out of the door that Suraya holds open for him, coming close to a quarian duo that are tapping their foots in a human manner to show their impatience to her. Instinctively, he flares his mandibles and clicks at them, _knowing_ their show doesn’t start for another standard thirty minutes- they could at least wait for the both of them to get out of the door.

“Not worth it.” Suraya says under her breath, even though her teeth are grit and she has one fist curled. He wonders if she’s talking to him or reminding herself that it wouldn’t be wise to swing on the _next_ profitable radio show in the building. The vulnerability is gone from her face, now, as they head out of the building, and he kind of misses it- that tender moment where there was more to their friendship than just good eating and tv shows and cracking jokes on-air.

In the crisp but manufactured atmosphere of the Zakera Ward street, he tries to bring it back, one hand tentatively grasping her shoulder as they pull to the side of the building. “Suraya, of course we’re still best friends. Technically married or not, I still value your friendship, and you have a place in my life.” He grips the donut box in between two talons, creating a severe dent in it, and picks up the prescription, holding it out to her. “This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, and even if we ended up officiated by the turian hierarchy, the fact that I have some way to combat my migraines...” He huffs slightly. “I don’t know how to express how grateful I am, but, really Suraya, _thank you_.”

Suraya’s eyes seem to go damp, and she looks away from him, blinking quickly. He starts to apologize, wondering what he could’ve said to upset her, but she holds out one hand. “Hold on a second.” And she presses her thumbs to the sides of her nose, close to her eyes, and blinks a few times. “Sorry, I really thought I’d messed this whole thing up. Like, really, _accidentally_ marrying someone isn’t like an ‘oh, I seem to have stepped on your toes!’ kind of apology. I was really worried you’d hate me when you explained what I’d done.”

“ _Suraya._ ” Jorik’s voice takes on a softer tone, more subharmonics than actual words- he deliberately ignores that it’s a tone used to calm down one’s mate. “I could never hate you. Get mad at you for making recall my retail experience on air for your sadistic pleasure? Sure. Hate you? Never.”

Her eyes seem to be drying, which he takes as a good sign, mirroring her action earlier and patting her shoulder. “That was justified.” She says with a slight huff. “You left me in the studio with Gem without a word, _then_ went to VrenCon- you know what? Old wounds. I’ve forgiven you for it.”

He lets out the closest thing to a snort his nostrils can manage. “If you had been five more minutes late, I was going to hold you playing hockey over your head for the rest of our lives, by the way.” He drops his hand from her shoulder, peering down at her to see how well his joke was received. She snorts, by now knowing he’s joking about his original misinterpretation of the human activity of ditching responsibility as the violent human ice sport.

“Would I have blamed you? Probably not- that’s my first time. Shameful.” Suraya knocks her fist on the box of donuts, with a somewhat mischievous smirk. “Come on, then- we gotta find _somewhere_ to gorge ourselves on the rest of these donuts. Your place or mine?”

And, when they settle on her apartment, they fall back into their normal pace of conversation, and he can almost forget that the human woman scaring the shit out of him by somehow walking backwards without falling is now his mate. But the thought is still there, on the back of his mind, and, no matter what, whenever she threw a grin at him, he wonders if her expression has changed, or if he’s suddenly viewing all of this in a new light. Was it the romantic in him, or simply a change in perspective?

Nonetheless, when they’re in her apartment, hands covered in powdered sugar and glaze and utterly messy, Jorik feels his heart thump unevenly when she jokingly calls him ‘husband dear’ and then tries to wipe her hands on him. His indignant shriek aside, she gives up her quest and ends up pressed side-to-side with him, warm and laughing and trying to explain the merits of some human sci-fi called 'A Dance on Stars' until he gives in and lets her project it onto the television.

Halfway through it, he updates his SpaceCase relationship status to ‘Married’.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes!
> 
> * Charra: a turian fruit (I used it as an analog to strawberries)  
> * SpaceCase: Intergalactic FaceBook (honestly? a nightmare)


End file.
